


If only you could see what I've seen with your eyes

by Alene, hjertetssunnegalskap (Crazyheart)



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [3]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Even is a sculptor, Explicit Sexual Content, Isak is a carpenter, It's year 1504, M/M, They are for some reason in Florence, explicit artwork, there is fanart with explicit content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 14:05:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16517894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alene/pseuds/Alene, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyheart/pseuds/hjertetssunnegalskap
Summary: He’s a quiet type, doesn’t come out much, doesn’t talk much.Sometimes Isak has seen him sitting on a bench against the stonewall, looking at the workers with a curious, contemplative look on his face.Always sketching something if he’s outside. Always the sound of his chisel hitting the stone if he’s inside.





	If only you could see what I've seen with your eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arindwell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arindwell/gifts).



> This is a small thing I (Alene) wrote for Arindwell's birthday, illustrated by hjertetssunnegalskap. 
> 
> WARNING: There is explicit fanart at the end of this drabble. The drabble itself isn't explicit but one of Camilla's paintings is. Hence the rating. 
> 
> The title is from Blade Runner. It kinda fits even in this context, I think. 
> 
> Happy birthday sweet Arin!

“I want to show you something before the others see it,” Even had said.

That was yesterday.

Even is a sculpture maker. He has his atelier in the corner of Duomo workyard, on the east side, along Via dei Servi.

He’s a quiet type, doesn’t come out much, doesn’t talk much.

Sometimes Isak has seen him sitting on a bench against the stonewall, looking at the workers with a curious, contemplative look on his face.

Always sketching something if he’s outside. Always the sound of his chisel hitting the stone if he’s inside.

Even when all the others escape the hot midday sun in favor of lunch and a nap at their homes.

That’s why Isak knows now is a good time to go in.

He lingers a little, pretends to clean the tools he has been using while all the other men leave the yard, one by one. Going to their wives or mothers.

(It’s not like Isak has either.)

He wipes his hands on his hose, checks that the linen shirt he has on isn’t too dirty, and crosses the yard in quick steps.

 

*

 

“Hello,” Even says.

He looks nervous. It looks like he’s bathed. He’s not covered in white marble dust like he usually is.

The floor has been swept, too.

Isak has to clear his throat. It doesn’t help much. His hello comes out higher than usual. It cracks at the end.

“Come,” Even says, takes Isak’s hand.

The jolt that goes through Isak at that is nothing like he has experienced before. For a moment tingles spread from his hand up to his face, down to his crotch.

To his toes, too.

His head feels light, floaty. His body heavy with lust.

“Ummm—,” Even says as they stop. He lets go of Isak’s hand.

All Isak sees is white.

White, polished surface of the most exquisite marble Isak has come across in the twenty-six years of his life.

It glimmers in the midday sun shining in through the atelier windows. There are barely any veins, faults, hollows. No traces of silt, sand or iron.

Isak raises his head, takes a step back to see it better.

It’s him.

Even has sculpted him. Carved him in the stone.

He turns to his left, opens his mouth to say something. But Even isn’t there anymore. Instead, he feels the warmth of another body just behind him, hot breath against the hairs in his neck.

“What do you think?” Even asks. Quiet, unsure.  

Isak has no words.

“It’s me,” he says.

“It is.”

“It’s me,” Isak says again.

It’s beautiful, too.

Isak has never really looked at himself. Not like looked, looked.

He’s seen the reflection while washing himself in the calm waters. He’s seen drawings his childhood friend, Jonas, has sometimes made of him. Once, when he still was a carpenter’s apprentice, he did work for a wealthy family and saw a glimpse himself in a Venetian mirror.

None of those times has he thought of himself as beautiful.

None of those times has he seen himself like Even has.

The statue is beautiful.

So that’s what he says in the end.

 _Thank you,_ Even whispers.  

No, Isak thinks. Thank _you_ , he thinks.

 

 

**Explicit fanart below, think twice before you scroll down**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Are you really sure about this? It's explicit. Think twice before you scroll down**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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